Benedictione Dei
by Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicat
Summary: A lonely Cerinian kit receives a very special gift from a mysterious stranger… (Submission for SF: Holiday Contest)


A/N: Submission for the Christmas One-Shot Contest, hosted by _K. S. Reynard _and _Emile The Watcher_. Please read all the other Christmas One-Shots when they're posted. _Deum benedicite._

_(Companion to The Cerinian_ Earth)  
Timeline: Six years before the events in The Cerinian Earth.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

**_Benedictione Dei _**

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

_**Christmas Canon - **_**Trans-Siberian Orchestra - **(Spotify, YouTube, iTunes)

* * *

**_Christmas will always be in the hearts of God's children everywhere as they extend a helping hand to a friend in need... as they go about reflecting God's goodness in the little quiet and unheralded expressions of a loving heart... as they share the light of the world with those who live in darkness_**

Krystal walked in the night.

A river of silvery light poured through the clouded sky from the moon, illuminating the snow-bound forest and the landscape around her; shadows from the clouds halted its journey, but even so were lit from within. And through the gaps in the clouds came the bright stars, casting a softer, more ambient light over the landscape, but the brighter one of the moon overshadowed their distant radiance. Down closer to the earth a gust of wind blew from the north, its chilly fingers scattering snow and ice from the leafless trees.

She kicked at a lump of frozen snow, hands in her pockets, as the wind blew over her. Shivering mightily, Krystal hugged herself while the wind passed, moving despite the northwind's strength. She was a pale blue Cerinian kit of about nine summers, had blueish-green eyes, and quite small for her age; only three-foot-six. But size didn't hamper her as much as one would think; rather, she used it to great advantage by going in places that none of her contemporaries would dream of doing, such as high trees, or far-too-small caves. Also, she was very active for her age, not coming back into the house until well after dark (and sometimes just before the sun rose), causing havoc wherever she went intentionally or (rarely) unintentionally.

But as of late a change had come over her. Instead of plunging headlong into life as she normally did, a kind of restlessness had come over her, a restlessness that did not go away. Suddenly all the exciting places she'd used to frequent had become too familiar, too confining. All of her original activities had become boring and dull; and she started to spend as much time alone as she used to spend with others.

A strange sort of longing had come over her, a void inside that could not be filled. Suddenly, she who had been self-assured about her place in the world, had started to question that place; wondering what might be wrong inside of her. Nothing she did seemed to fix it: playing with her friends; exploring the forests round her village; tormenting her sister, the elder by four summers; even reading, which she despised.

Krystal stopped next to a tree and sat down, ignoring the wet snow at its base, even though she would pay for it later. The mournful hoots of a nighthawk sounded through the forest from someplace distant. She sighed, ears lowered, wondering how the animals stood it. They were so free, so careless of any kind of worry, that she wondered how in all of Cerinia could she relate to them? They were creatures apart, different.

"What is affecting me," she asked the forest, "why does it hurt so much?" The trees creaked as the wind rustled them, unable to give an answer. Her father had said that it was only the normal woes of growing up, growing from a tiny kit into a mature girl. _It will soon pass, _he had told her_, your elder sister went through the same thing when she was your age, and is still growing._

___No father, it's not like that, _she argued back_, __it is something else, something inside of me, that is causing it. _

Indeed, as the daughter of a Healer, she knew far more than other kits her age did; and she was also more observant than most. She knew how her sister often mopped around, doing absolutely nothing except sit and stare out the window. What she felt was nothing like it. Instead of displaying it openly, like her sister, she kept it locked down inside until she was alone, as she was now.

_It will soon pass_, came the haunting words.

Krystal sighed again, and got up. It was getting late, towards midnight. If she did not come back before the clock struck twelve, her father would come looking for her, despite her tendency to stay out late. She turned and made for the road that ran through the forest; fortunately, it was not afar off, and soon she found the long, white strip cutting through the trees. Tracks of wagons, animals, and Cerinians dotted the center, with several stragglers on the edges. Engrossed in her thoughts, she did not see the huge black shape before her and ran right into it.

"Whoa, steady there, now." The black figure quickly caught her before she unceremoniously fell to the ground, and steadied her.

"Thank you, goodsir," Krystal gasped, started both by him and the near fall, "I didn't see you."

"That was evident; what are you doing out here this late at night?" He queried. "Shouldn't you be home?"

"Ah..." Krystal felt blood rush up to her face; how could she explain to him her reasons for wandering, for it was downright strange for anyone her age to _be _out at this time of night. "I - I can't say," she stammered, "I - I really need to be going. My father will be looking for me soon." She started to go but he kept a firm hold on her arm.

"You live nearby?" He asked, knowing that something was wrong with her from her tone. Perhaps he could help, if but for a short time.

"Yes," she pointed down the road, where a glow could be seen through the trees. "I live a little ways from the village. Can you let me go?" She asked, looking back at him, "I need to get home."

"Well, it just so happens that I'm headed there myself." The stranger said, sounding pleased for some reason. "Would you care if I escorted you home? Surely your father cannot complain if he sees you in good hands." Krystal thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

"You are silent, little one. Are you ill?" He asked as they started down the road. Krystal shook her head. "What else then could be the matter?"

Krystal thought about the question. At times she didn't know what the problem was; others it was very clear. "I am alone," she confessed, at last. "I don't feel right. It's not sickness... I don't know."

"Could it be that you're just growing?" The stranger suggested, "Those sort of things often bring times where you don't feel like yourself; like you've changed into a new creäture and are not sure whether you like it or not. Is it like that?"

"N - no, it's not. My sister behaves like that, but I don't." Krystal answered. "I am not like that. My group of friends are about my age, so I can't feel alone whenever I grow 'cause they would grow too. It's, something else... I can't - I don't know how to say it!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "I just can't!"

"Allow me to help you find the word, or phrase, you're looking for." The stranger said, gently. "Is it like being alone inside your own head? A kind of emptiness in your very spirit? An emptiness that you cannot fill, despite your best efforts?"

Krystal nodded. "Why?" She asked, "Have you gone through the same thing?"

"Oh yes, many, many times. For me, it felt like I was drowning and there was no one to hear me calling for help." He tapped his temple, knowingly. "I know what you feel."

"Then how did you, uh, get over it?" Krystal asked, curious. "You don't look, sad..." she trailed off, looking down, her words bringing back her own sorrow. They exited the forest and now walked underneath the moonlight; the clouds had blown away with the changing of the winds; and with the change came a fierce wind that blew against them. The colder wind blasted away any heat that was left in her body and she huddled closer against him, trying to keep warm. He opened his cloak, and she nestled into it's comforting embrace. "Th - thank y... you," she said, teeth chattering.

"It is no problem, little one," he said, smiling even though she could not see it. "What with you spending God knows how long outside, you must be freezing like an icicle!"

Krystal smiled despite her shivers, imagining herself inside an icicle with snow round about. "D... don't b... b... be silly!" She rebuked him. "That'll never happen!"

"It will if you keep wandering around in the cold, and with your jacket all soaked, too." He gently admonished her. "Now, what was your question?"

"H... how did y... y... you get over it? Over being al - alone?" She asked, still shivering even inside the cloak. She pulled it tighter around her, allowing the fur-lined warmth to penetrate her numb bones, and to dry her own fur.

"I talked it over with others: family, friends, others whom I never met before, all as long as they had a willing ear. I admit I must have talked their ears off, but it helps to ramble, because it relieves the tensions inside." He looked down at her, a little bedraggled furball hugging his body, and reflected how he'd often done the same, many times as a young boy, clinging to an authority figure for guidance. "And also, reading was my greatest ally." He continued. "It gave answers to the questions I was asking, questions that no one could answer."

"I tried that, goodsir," Krystal said, relaxing now that her body lost its frozen state. "Nothing worked. I tried everything I could think of and nothing worked."

"You mean talking to friends, family, or reading?"

"The latter."

"Why not the former two?" He asked, sounding a little sad, perhaps at the thought of her dealing with it all alone, with no one to help or care.

"Because I was... I was afraid." She admitted, feeling ashamed. "I was afraid they would laugh at me. They all knew me as an outgoing, fun-loving, socializing kit: and I couldn't, anyway. No one would understand me."

"Yet you opened your heart to an outsider, like me," he observed, choosing his words with care, for he knew that she was feeling unbalanced under his questioning. The slightest misstep could cause her clam up, and he did not want that. "I am a stranger to you; you hardly know me." Who knew how long she'd suffered under this black cloud of hers; it must have dampened all activities for her, sapped all the enjoyment out of them. _It was a wonder that no one had caught on to it,_ he thought sadly.

Krystal felt trapped. In an effort to verbalize her thoughts, she answered, haltingly, "But you... you care. You've talked with me all this time. You seem to understand. They couldn't understand me, even if I could tell them."

"What makes you think that they have not gone through the same thing at some point in their lives, like you are? It is best to ask for help than to suffer in silence. Although I admit that being laughed at is a fear we all have. Perhaps they dealt with it the same you have: walking out alone in the night."

"I suppose." Krystal amended, not fully convinced.

"Allow me to suggest something, and you can do it on your own time." He suggested, "Come to one you trust, one who will understand you, no matter how you feel afraid, and talk it over. A burden shared is a burden halved." They went over a rise in the ground and Krystal's village lay sprawled out across the valley, every cottage dressed in the trappings of Winter.

It was a pictorial scene, worthy of an artist's canvas. Upon the roofs lay thick, virgin snow, undisturbed by plundering kits; underneath glowed golden windows, bringing an inviting picture to mind of a happy family gathered round a warm fire. Icicles glittered on the eves, sparkling like so many hundreds of thousands of diamonds, a gift from Jack Frost (who was unknown to most Cerinian cultures). In the yards stood snow sculptures of various shapes and sizes, and artistry. Out beyond was the western sea, the waves gently cresting over by the same wind blowing against the two vulpi coming down the road.

The stranger halted for a moment, allowing the little kit to sort out her thoughts in peace. He gazed out upon the little village, almost the size of a northern town, remembering his reasons for coming down here. Unknown to the kit, he checked the inside of his cloak; inside were several satchels, deceptively light despite their contents. Satisfied they were in order, he let the cloak conceal them once more.

"I guess so," Krystal said, quietly. "But I don't know who to trust..." Her voice trailed off again as she gazed over her village, aware that there were lots of kits her age having fun, listening to stories told by friends and family, while she was out here alone with only a stranger to listen to her.

"How about I tell you a story?" He said, suddenly struck by a flash of inspiration. It was not only proper it also fit in with why he came down here in the first place. "It will take your mind off it for a little while. It is a most marvelous story, and it starts out on a night very much like this one, but a long, long time ago. Come, let us go." He steered her down the hill, and they resumed their journey.

"Is it about someone like me?" She asked, looking up into his dark features. Back in the forest she couldn't tell what he looked like, it being dark; but now she could discern he was a blond furred vulpes, with bright green eyes that positively glowed as the light struck them.

"No," he laughed, "it is about about a group of men who perhaps felt the same way you did. They were shepherds, and took care of a local town's flock. It was a sort of communal herd of the townsfolk who owned at least one or two for their wool, milk, and meat. Being a shepherd was lonely work, and they would often gather together for company. It was on one such night (in fact, on this very night) that a group of these men received a visit from someone very special, and important."

"Who?" She asked when he paused. "Who was the visitor?"

"Well you see, these shepherds belonged to a people who were constantly losing their lands to other, more powerful nations. Once, long ago in their history, they were the masters over all. People from everywhere would come to hear the wisdom of their wise men, or to see the wealth and splendor of their cities - or both, as was often the case. Now they were nothing more than a disparate union of tribes and clans who were bound under an empire who'd crushed most of the civilized world. They longed for a return of their glory days, but it was impossible. They had no leader to unite them, or army to fight."

"How awful." Krystal imagined how hard it must be to live under someone greater than yourself, and have only memories of what you once were. Then she realized that she herself felt this way. She too lived under the shadow of another; only instead of an actual person, it was the shadow of her old self, of what she used to be. "Did someone come to free them?" she asked, feeling connected with these story-shepherds.

"Yes, but we're not at that part yet. As they sat there, on the hill watching over their flocks and reflecting on their past, a spirit appeared before them."

"Was it one of the Seven?" Krystal asked, her curiosity piqued. The Seven Spirits were the central deities of Cerinian religion, and were said to have created the world in the time before times.

The stranger shook his head, laughing softly. "No, it was a messenger. The Seven couldn't appear before mortal men without burning them to ashes." Krystal nodded, for it made sense from what she'd been taught. "It was a messenger who came to tell them some great news. Unfortunately, it was so unexpected that they cowered before it, for they were deathly afraid."

"Afraid? But isn't it an honor to be visited by a Spirit? Why would they be afraid?"

"Not in the sense of mortal fear, fear for your life, no; the kind of "fear" they felt was rather reverence for the supernatural being. They recognized the spirit for who he was; a messenger from the Lord, sent to bring great news."

He looked up into the sky, as if searching for something, then continued his story: "Now, as they prostrated themselves, the spirit said "Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." As he said this, a vast host of spirits appeared in the sky, so many of them that the nighttime transformed into day, all praising the One whom they served: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!" And then the wonderous vision faded, and the peace of the night returned to the hillside."

"Who is this "Christ" the spirit spoke of? Was he one of the Seven?" Krystal asked, imagining the scene as he spoke it, for it was incredibly vivid.

"No, little one, but rather something entirely different. The Seven do guard the world, it is true, but this Christ had a different role to play, one far more important. Now, when the heavenly host had faded away, and the nighttime had returned, the shepherds decided to go and search for the Christ-child, for if what the spirit had told them was true, they and their people would reclaim their lost glory. They had no fear of leaving their flocks behind, for thieves would not trouble them while they were gone. Where do you live, exactly?"

Krystal blinked, coming out of the imaginary world, and into reality: during the story they had walked through the village, unseen by anyone else, and had reached the end. "Up there, goodsir." She pointed to her right, up a path winding its way through a cluster of hillocks and bushes. "My father is a Healer, and lives a ways from the village to prevent people from bothering him for tiny things that they could do themselves."

"He is a wise man, your father. Off we go." They started up the path, and soon the village was far behind them.

"Well then, as I was saying. They entered the town and began to look for this "Savior." However, something must have guided them, for they soon found where the baby was born. Do you know where he was?" Krystal shook her head. "Why, the spirit's message should have given you a clue. You know what a manger is?"

"Ye - yes," she said slowly, "isn't it a feeder for animals?" She inquired, puzzled by his question.

"Precisely. They found the Child and his parents inside a lowly stable. Imagine that, finding their "Savior" inside such a humble place! A child destined to become a leader, but born in a pig-pen! Not that he was." He assured her, a twinkle in his eye. Krystal giggled, unable to control herself, it was funny the way he said it. "Nevertheless, they instantly knew for who he was. For inside their holy book, which is not too much different from yours, there are many prophesies about a Child like this one who would be born in a stable and destined to be the Savior for their people. They gave him reverence, for he was the "Chosen One" that would save them all." Then he added, quietly. "But not in the way they thought."

"What did his parents think of that? The baby's parents?" Krystal asked as they moved over a rise in the path. "Did they think it strange to see strangers bowing before their son?"

"Oh no, they knew exactly why. His mother and father had been visited by a spirit just like these poor men were, and told that they would have a son greater than all others; for this was no ordinary child." He paused dramatically. Krystal's eyes were wide; she'd heard nothing like this before.

"Please, tell me! What makes him so special!?" She cried, tugging on his arm.

He laughed, "Patience is a virtue, my little kit."

"Tell me!" She demanded firmly.

"Very well. He was no earthly child, but came straight from the Highest, a Greater Spirit over the Seven themselves: In fact, the Ruler and Sovereign Lord over all creation. This Child was the Christ, the son of God." He waited as she assimilated all the information. She didn't have that much difficulty believing it, for before the Seven came about there were all kinds of myths of half-god half-Cerinian children, and most of them became great heros - and died a horrible death afterwards because they offended one of the gods; yet this was different, because no god in the myths had sent a spirit to proclaim his son's birth, ever.

"Do you know what the word "Christ" means?" He asked her; she shook her head. It was a strange word, one she'd never heard before. "No? Well, it comes from an ancient word _Christós_, which means Anointed; and that word came from another, more ancient word, which is "Messiah." Not that you would know of these things, because those words came from cultures who've ceased to exist. This Child was called all these, because he in fact, was _the _Savior, born to liberate his people from the bonds of slavery."

"Did he free them? From that empire?"

"No he didn't but he did free them, just not in the way they hoped. How he freed them is a different story. Aha, here we are. This is your home?" Before them was a large home, like those in the village, but different; for it was not only a dwelling but a storehouse for all kinds of herbs and medicines the Healer undoubtedly kept. Behind it lay another forest, but these trees were not as densely packed as the one which the other road ran through.

Krystal blinked again: she was becoming too spellbound by a simply story._ Silly me_, she told herself. _It's just a story. _And yet something inside her hoped it was not. "Yes, goodsir" she said, disappointed that she wouldn't be able to hear the rest of his story. "Thank you, goodsir." She thanked him, "You've helped me a lot. I wish I could have something like that happen to me." She added wistfully, getting out from under his cloak.

"It is of no problem to me, little one. I enjoyed the company." He answered, smiling gently. This little kit was in for a surprise, much to her relief. And his.

"Will you come back again and tell me the rest of the story, sometime?" she asked hopefully, looking up at him.

"I don't know, little one; but have no fear." (Krystal giggled, because he was quoting straight from the story) "It just so happens that I have a book with me, one that contains this story, and many, many more, including one that tells of how this Child freed his people." He reached inside his cloak, into one of the satchels, and pulled out a blue-bound book and gave it to Krystal. "Here you are."

She squinted at the gold-colored lettering on the cover, made dim by the moonlight. _""The Good News as told by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."_ Who are they?" she asked, curious, looking up at him.

"They are four ordinary men who wrote this story so that I could give it to you." She giggled again, because she knew he was joking. "In fact, one of them was a Healer, just like your father, so you might be able to identify with him."

"Wow! Really?" When he nodded, she opened the book, eager to read. What she saw instead was even more exciting. "Oh my..." On each right page there was one, full color picture depicting the scenes inside the book. There was the picture of the shepherds with the spirits five pages in; the next page showed three men riding strange runner-like creatures across a desert (runners were the Cerinian name for horses) following a star; several more pages in showed a vulpes in shining white clothing with three others shielding their eyes, while two more stood beside him. "This is incredible!" She said, looking back up at him, eyes aglow. "I didn't know they were artists!"

He laughed softly, "No, they didn't make those. Others did it to better bring the story to life. Do you want to hear a secret?" He asked, suddenly, lowering his voice as if in a conspiracy. Krystal leaned in, eager to hear it. "Did you know that the story I told, as well as all of those in that book, really did happen?"

"No way!" She breathed, equally quiet. "You're pulling my tail, aren't you?"

He shook his head. "No, little one, I am not. It really did; and here is another secret. This Christ was born not only to save those poor shepherds, but _everyone!_ Everyone from you to me." His eyes were full of some emotion she did not see, being once again absorbed by the book. _Mission accomplished_, he thought, smiling. "He is the one we turn to when we're down; He is the one who fills us with goodness and light; and He is the one that will bring us to greatness one day. This book will relieve your spirits when you are down, and lift you back up on your feet. He has all the time in the world to listen our pleas; and this book is his story."

"Thank you! Thank you!" She exclaimed. "I'll be sure to read every page!"

"One more thing before we part, little one. What is your name?"

"Krystal." She said, still engrossed inside the book.

"It is a good name, Krystal. Now, I must be off, for I have some important business to do. See you again, one day."

"Good bye," she looked up and smiled at him, "I hope we do meet again." She turned around and ran to her door, for the heat from the stranger's cloak was fast leaving her. She quickly opened the door and was about to go in when she stopped and looked back at him; he was still there, standing with his staff, a feature she did not notice before. She waved at him, then disappeared inside the house.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Beneath his Cerinian holoshroud Tristan smiled at the darkened door through which little Krystal had vanished. He knew she would return to that story in the years to come, even if she forgot him. He looked up into the sky, where a bright star once shone many thousands of years before, then back at a cluster of lights. Despite the fact he had few of the books the Cerinians were a social people, and would share them to their neighbors. This was truly a blessed night, for it was by chance he'd come across little Krystal, and able to relate the story as told by Luke the Healer.

He turned around and started back for the village. He would lay the books on a few doorsteps, here and there, then continue on his way. But before the little house disappeared on the horizon, he looked back, and whispered, "Merry Christmas, little one. _Spera in Deo_, for He will help you, to the end of your days."

Then he moved on. Overhead the moon shone down in benediction, silently bearing witness.

* * *

**_(We)_**  
**_This night _**  
**_(are)_**  
**_We pray_**  
**_(wait-)_**  
**_Our lives_**  
**_(-ing)_**  
**_Will show_**  
**_(We)_**  
**_This dream_**  
**_(have) _**  
**_He had_**  
**_(not)_**  
**_Each child_**  
**_(forgotten)_**  
**_Still knows_**

(Christmas Canon Lyrics)

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

A/N: For those of you who read TCE, the next update will be delayed, as family will be showing up for Thanksgiving. Thank you for your patience. Also, KotE will have an update as well, but it won't be for a very long time. Anyway, have a great Thanksgiving, and when it comes, a Merry Christmas.


End file.
